The Aviator
by the one and only yo
Summary: One's words have a story behind them, even the most inane ones probably hides a cherished memory, or a deep scar.


"… _Son, do you love her?"_

 _At the back of my head, I wondered why he would ask such a ridiculous question. Katherine was going to be my wife. I chose to spend my life with her. As he continued to look at me though, I saw an intensity in his eyes that I hadn't seen before, yet at the same time it looked like he was looking past me. I felt a pang in my heart, with a slight nagging I couldn't understand._

 _But still, I needed to answer his plea._

" _I…"_

It's been two years since that conversation. A day after my first year anniversary with Kat, my father passed away. The celebration came crashing down in a cruel twist. Everything that happened after then felt like my mind and my body were torn apart. I was just going through the motions, feelings numbed by the suddenness of dad's death.

Then some time later, I was struck with grief, realizing he would never return. I loved him so much, and I didn't realize that the weight of that love would crush my heart. It hurt so much. If it wasn't for my wife, I don't know if my life would return to some sort of normalcy, living with this new reality.

And now, I'm at my old home for my dad's first death anniversary. My wife went out with mom to prepare for the other guests that were coming tomorrow.

So all alone, I decided to go to my dad's study, my refuge during my childhood.

Looking at my dad's study, I was struck with feelings of nostalgia and comfort. Except for a few books, that different study lamp and those white curtains, it looked exactly the same with the memories I had as a child.

The oak table had that same coat of varnish, and it also had those scratches which gave my dad headaches. I remember hating those times because it usually meant my dad would have those lectures again. It was seared into my mind about how the table was an antique and how I had to be careful about others' things. Remembering those thoughts gave me a smile. I was a pain in the ass when I was a kid.

I continued to explore the room, then I noticed those strange propeller-like blades hanging beside the window. The curved edges was painted in gold, and the spinner was made out of oak coated with dark resin, and center was hollow. The whole thing looked like it was meant to be attached somewhere.

Thinking about it, these blades always caught my eye whenever I was in the study, and whenever I asked my dad about them he would always respond with a smile, then mentioning that he promised a friend to take care of it. I would see my dad polishing the blade sometimes.

In those times, my dad would just start telling stories about his days as a navy cook, about how he secretly enlisted as a commissary man for the aircraft carrier I.B.S Gregory. His parents thought that a cook would go nowhere. He also told me about those times where he would mess around with his fellow cooks whenever they docked. Every port was different, and my father would look forward to every time they would hit land. In times between drowning themselves with alcohol, my dad would discover spices and ingredients for his cooking experiments. Sometimes the sailors would ask for seconds, and sometimes they'd run to the nearest toilet.

He'd also tell stories about the navy pilots and those aircraft that he always enjoyed seeing take off from the narrow and short runway of aircraft carrier. One of his closest friends, he told me, was one of those pilots, the best of them he'd say. He'd also start laughing about that time he and his friend was sent to the brig because they flew the Whirling G, his friend's assigned plane, without permission. My dad's eyes would sparkle whenever he talked about his friend. Talking about days when they'd just lie on the runway whenever they had nothing to do, or just dad watching his friend tinker with the Whirling G.

As I grew up though, I'd grown to become more aware about those times. I realized those stories by dad told me happened during the Great War 50 years ago. Those pockets of happiness we're his solace during those horrifying times. How did he live with those memories? Did he cry himself to sleep sometimes? Did he ask for my mom's embrace whenever those memories haunt him? Whenever I asked my mom about it, she'd reassure me that my dad was fine. Until now, my mom never really talked about those times.

I'd see my father staring blankly at the blades sometimes, and at those times I wondered about what was inside his mind. As more responsibilities piled up though, I'd put them in the back of my mind, eventually forgetting about it.

Then I noticed an envelope on top of the of the glass casing. I carefully picked it up, seeing it was yellowed from age and the crease of the flap was nearly torn. Then I sat down on the floor, leaning beside the study table. I flipped over the letter and it was addressed:

" _To George, my navigator"_.

As I opened it, there was a faded photograph inside.

Its edges were slightly torn and there were creases which formed like a jumbled web. In the picture was a beautiful pilot...

She was breathtaking, even with the yellowing of the paper.

Her eyes had this emerald sparkle and her long blue hair swayed in the wind: the aviator's cap worn on her head. She had this radiant smile that leaves an impression on you, a smile of a determined yet earnest woman. As I continued to examine the photo, my eyes widened at a familiar sight. On her back, I saw the same propeller-like blades that was encased in dad's study.

I see…

A moment after this revelation, I looked at the back of the photo and read the letter that was written:

 _"George,_

 _I'm so happy that I had the time to write this letter. Did you love the photo? The weather on the Western Front was perfect, so I decided to take a picture along with the other pilots. We skipped our daily rounds for this, but it's worth it. It gets really hectic over here._

 _The food's terrible, I wish you could send me your cooking._

 _I miss you George. I miss your touch. I miss you so much. I hope this will be the last time the Whirling G would be flown for combat. When I come back, I want to fly this beauty with you again._

 _I swear to you I'll come back._

 _I love you. I love you so much._

 _Your Lia"_

…

I continued to sit down there, staring at the photo, trying to process everything that I just learned. As I was doing so, tears just started to flow from my eyes until I was sobbing.

 _"This is from an old friend of mine. It's the emblem of their squadron... They wanted me to take care of it."_

It took a long time before I could calm down.

Then I quickly opened my phone and dialed my wife's number. My Katherine, my love, one I wouldn't trade for the world. Then she picked up.

"Hey Hon, Nana and I we're just about to go home. We're at the parking lot right now."

"…"

"Hon?"

"Hon? Hello?"

"Kat, there's something I wanna say…"

"… _Son, do you love her?"_

" _I… of course dad!"_

 _Then my father stood up and gripped my shoulders. He looked at me with the same intensity in his eyes, only now I could feel that he was directly staring at me._

" _Then cherish her, do everything in your power not to lose her, understand?"_

 _..._

"Yes dad."


End file.
